


Dreams Brought You to Me

by SleepWithTheFishes (DoctorHedgehog)



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Anya is a bit risque here, Because anya really loves him, Confessions, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gleb's Thoughts in Third Person POV, Glenya, Happy Ending, Kissing, Lots of it, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Gleb Vaganov, Reunions, They're really soft here, Yearning, or the start of one anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorHedgehog/pseuds/SleepWithTheFishes
Summary: Vaguely, he would always say to himself, pushing those dreams further away to be forgotten. It was best to pretend, he thinks, that the details were hazy.
Relationships: Anya | Anastasia Romanov & Gleb Vaganov, Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Gleb Vaganov, Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (mentioned), Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (past)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Dreams Brought You to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just a small note:  
> This fic is set six months after Anastasia the Musical. A few things have changed, but I hope they aren't too OOC.

He vaguely remembered that he was standing on the bridge, snow beneath his feet. He vaguely remembered how a certain golden-haired woman came over to the bridge with a bright grin on her soft lips after a hard day at work. He vaguely remembered her tiptoeing to kiss his cheek and, as he would turn with a quiet chuckle, indulge in the feeling of his lips on hers. He vaguely remembered the way her lips tasted: like honey, he would think, and tea — _his_ favorite blend of tea. He basks in her presence, drunk from the feeling of her thin fingers on his chest, drunk from her flowery scent, drunk from her soft gaze. She would wrap her arms around his thick frame as he holds her tightly as they quietly confessed their love for each other. They would smile.

He shook his head. _Vaguely_ , he would always say to himself, pushing those dreams further away to be forgotten. It was best to pretend, he thinks, that the details were hazy.

He huffed.

He figured he would start anew. It was for the best, he thought. Perhaps forget about the past that way. He's moved up the ranks after the Anastasia incident — his superiors believed that the girl was merely blackmailed into participating into this ordeal by a bunch of criminals _(A lie, of course)_ — and gave him a medal and a higher position of power. The papers have been published, regarding the incident.

 **There never was an Anastasia,** it said in bold prints _(another lie)_.

Since then, he's moved out of his old flat and found a place suited to his own tastes, he thinks. He bought a house quite a way away from his office — not too far, but remote enough. He thought that ridding himself from his old flat would change something, anything at all. Maybe it'll help him move on from that incident.

_(It didn't.)_

Now, here he is, sitting in his living room in his own house in Leningrad — in Russia. No more of that colorful city that was Paris. No more of the wonderful music, or entrancing sights, or the enchanting enigma that was her. He was here, back home, back in Russia. Alone. He was content. He felt satisfied.

_(He really wasn't. He denies it, though.)_

A faint knock on the door tore him from his thoughts. He reckons it's his nosy neighbour, Nadia. He had to admit, despite the old lady's good-natured attitude, she was a bit of a gossiping rascal. Since the old lady had no one to chat to but him, she frequents his place a lot, even if he didn't want her to be there. He groaned quietly. It would be acceptable to have her around at noon, but this late at night? Perhaps he was a tad bit grouchy and groggy to be bothered. He straightens his shirt and trousers, slicking hair as he reached for the doorknob.

"Comrade Nadia, it's a bit late —" He cuts himself off as he saw anyone else but the old lady from down the street.

His eyes rested on the small figure wearing a brown cap, a small tear could be spotted on the side. Her golden hair, sticking out like a sore thumb as it contrasted the darkness of her outfit, was neatly brushed to the side, letting him see the face that he's seen in his dreams: that oval-shaped face, the softness of her lips, her adorable pointed-nose, and her eyes — those bright blue eyes that enchants and captures. What caught his attention the most was the coat that draped over her. His gaze drifted from the length of the sleeves to the customized pattern on the shoulder pads and the cuffs. He was sure of it.

 _His_ coat.

 _It couldn't be..._ He gasped. _It would be impossible for her to return to Russia without getting caught,_ he thought, heart pounding loudly in his ears. His mind blanked, and all he could think was denying her presence.

_She isn't here, Vaganov. You're seeing things._

But all thoughts vanished when her voice rang loud and clear to the soldier. "Hello, Gleb."

"Anya!" He stutters, smiling briefly only to hide it by kneeling down on knee and lowering his head, his face red from embarrassment. How could he forget she was royalty? "Anastasia, your highness..."

"Please get up, Gleb! There's no need for that!" She orders quietly, a little less commanding, a little more light-hearted. He could sense a smile on her face and, perhaps, a restrained giggle when she said that. Her delicate fingers rested on his shoulders as he looked up to meet those bright blue eyes. "And _please_ , call me Anya."

"Anya... Er, yes, apologies," He stutters, pushing himself to stand. He straightens himself up and grinned, albeit forced.

"May I come in?" She asked, voice meek yet sweet that the Deputy Commissioner felt his stomach twist into a knot.

"Please come in," he replies without second thought. How could he say no to her? "Warm yourself up, sit by the fireplace."

The petite woman thanks him as she made her way to his couch and sat there, shrugging off her coat and taking the cap off her head in the process. Setting it next to her, she spoke, "Quite the place you've got. It's quite... homely."

"Thank you," he chuckles, albeit hollow. He really wasn't expecting any guests tonight, but he's thought of cleaning the house before going back to that cold, dark room. He's thankful that he did clean up. He didn't want her to know that he was a mess. He made his way to the kitchen to pour tea for his guest, distancing himself. "I tried to make it comfortable."

He looked at her for a moment, observing her. She had changed — from a meek street sweeper to a Grand Duchess. She carries herself like a princess, all regal and formal. Everything about her screams: _I've moved on_. Then, here he was: Gleb Vaganov, a man who is purely devoted to his country and will do anything for his country — a man who is seen as this bastion of power and strength, looked utterly destroyed behind closed doors: from his untruly black hair to his slightly wrinkled shirt down to his mismatched socks, the man had let himself go.

Would she look at him any different? Perhaps with a bit more pity than disdain. Wishful thinking, really.

"What are you doing back here?" Gleb turned to Anya with a pointed look on his face. "It's certainly no place for a noble woman such as yourself."

She laughs. Not a half-hearted laugh meant to be seen as polite, she meant it. God, he wanted to hear her laugh just like that every day. "You flatter me too much."

He brings the tea over to her and smiled. She takes the tea from his hands, their fingers brushing against each other. It was electric, almost. He scolded himself internally, realizing how childish it was. _Damn it._ Anya takes a sip before replying with a hint of sadness, "I... I do miss Russia from time to time.

"Paris is wonderful, you know?" She sighs, putting the cup down. "The brightness of that city is beyond compare, but I have to admit that I miss my homeland."

"Do you miss the cold and harsh winter?" He jokes, pressing his back against the pillow on the couch carefully. Anya snorts and shakes her head. "Neither do I, but... Leningrad is my home."

"Mine too." She adds, a lopsided smirk on her face. "So many memories made in this city..."

The truck backfiring came into mind as she spoke. The soldier meeting a mere street sweeper with golden locks and bright blue eyes. He fell for her. Hard. He already knew that - as if the moment he took her hand and saw her face wasn't enough. If he only knew who she was back then, perhaps the outcome could've been different.

_Still..._

Anya hums. "Why did you move out of your old flat?"

"Bad memories." He replied, tensing up. All the reasons came flooding in his mind, but he was too much of a coward to say it to her. There was a brief pause, before he continued. "I didn't want to see it play over and over again." He says it as if he was rid of it.

_(He really wasn't over it.)_

He could feel her eye on him, reading him. She knew it was about her, but not quite the way she interpreted it. There was a gloomy smile on her face — he could call it empathy, but in reality, she felt as guilty as he was. How traumatizing was it for her to have a gun pointed to her heart? All because she was thought to be _(and she truly_ is _)_ Anastasia. She was guilty for existing. He was a man acting upon his orders, but was it right? To take the life of a woman who's so desperate to find a home with a loving family especially in these desperate times? It wasn't right and he knew it. He was guilty for acting upon his orders.

He wanted to take her into his embrace and apologize to her, even if it didn't do much. An apology doesn't cut it, but she deserved it nonetheless. She deserves to be happy.

She deserves the world.

"You know," Anya spoke abruptly, her voice breaking the cold silence between them. "You're a good man, Gleb. It's just the uniform."

"I'm not a good man," he shakes his head as he laughs light-heartedly, "but I am a good tea-maker."

"That, you are," she giggles, taking another sip of his brew. "I must say, this is way better than the tea you often brought me."

He felt his cheeks turn red at the compliment. He muttered a quiet _thank you_ before observing her as she took in another sip, and another. He'd give anything to be with her. He'd give anything to watch her as she smiles, carefree and devoid of any worries about the world every day. If not that, then watch her empty her cup of tea that he brewed and thoroughly enjoyed every last drop of it. It'd make his day brighter. He could shoulder the problems that weighed on him every day.

Having her act like herself in his own home was beyond wonderful and completely... Unrealistic.

He knew that Anya couldn't stay here for long. Risking her newfound life and leaving Paris only for a brief moment — to have a cup of tea and chat with him, of all things! — to go back to the cold, grim city that is Leningrad. She'd gone through a whole lot to finally find her place in the world, to find her family and to remember who she was... Only to come back to the place where she was treated like she was nothing more than an outcast. Why?

And how can she go home? The way back to Paris will be more difficult now that the process of obtaining visas are more complicated. With the incident before, the government decided to enforce a more complex way of attaining visas for the safety of the country. With that in mind, he figured she'd have to stay here for a long, long while.

That said, why is she throwing away her chance at a new life?

"If you don't mind me asking again," he spoke, not realizing how serious he sounded until Anya jumped. "What _really_ brought you back here? There's... There's nothing in store for you here."

"Well, in your words," she sets her tea cup down on the table, a smile on her lips as she faced him. " _Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian._ "

He remembered it well, that night. _If you really are Anastasia, do you think history wants you to have lived?_ His words echoed in his ears like a gunshot in the dead of night. Russia might not, but history definitely wanted her to have lived.

 _He_ wanted her to live.

"There's something more to that, Anya." He spoke softly. "Please tell me the truth."

She mumbled, cheeks red, "Paris is anything _but_ Leningrad."

"But you can have everything in Paris," he counters. It didn't make sense for her to return to this forsaken city. "Everything you've ever needed — everything you've ever _wanted_ , even."

"Yes, I know," she laughs, the smile not quite meeting her eyes. "Paris doesn't have Bolshevik soldiers that offer you tea, though."

Now it was his turn to be red-faced. "It was... It took me a while to find you, Deputy Commissioner."

"Find me?" He uttered in disbelief. "For how long?"

"Two weeks, give or take."

 _Two weeks._ She'd been looking for him for two entire weeks. He wasn't a difficult man find, and Leningrad was not that big anyways. And for what reason? To catch up? To have a cup of tea and chat with him, perhaps boasting about Parisian life? No, he thought. Looking at the Grand Duchess, she was anything but boastful. She was humbly dressed — her outfit even reminded him of the garments she wore the first time they met, only that there was no tear or misplaced buttons. Why was she looking for him anyway?

"I saw you leave from the Bolshevik Headquarters up north," she spoke, tearing him away from his thoughts. She chuckled, more to herself. "I had to sneak around to find your home."

"A true spy, you are." He grinned. "Surely, you didn't find any trouble on your way here?"

"Which reminds me," she continued, beaming at him. "An old lady stopped me before I could even reach your doorstep." She crossed her legs and leaned towards him. "I had to explain that I was your friend, visiting..."

"Nadia." He shook his head. "She's very forthcoming about her opinions on women that wander in these blocks," he scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Especially when they come to a bachelor's home, unannounced. It doesn't happen that often, though." He laughs, feeling his shoulders loosen a bit. "She's everyone's mother in this area."

"She has special regard for you, though," Anya teased, her hand resting next to his. He could see it, but he didn't have the gall to touch her hand, nor hold it.

"What can I say?" He puffed his chest in exaggeration. "I know how to make people love me."

"I'd know." Anya replied absentmindedly, staring at him with the same stormy-eyed gaze she held before. She smirked as if to tease him. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

"How is being a Grand Duchess?" he digressed, trying to thwart those silly thoughts from his mind. "I would say exciting, but..."

"Oh, _definitely_ exciting." She scoffed sarcastically. She shook her head. "It's _exhausting_ , if anything."

He imagined her life for a moment; he imagined her waking up and having served breakfast. Maybe she would have maids around her constantly, trying to assist her in every way. She would constantly have to dress herself well — as if she was going to an important event — every day to show her status as part of royalty. He grimaced. The Deputy Commissioner couldn't imagine dressing up like that constantly. If it were him, he'd say that she'd look beautiful regardless of what she had worn. She'd look beautiful even with his shirt on.

 _Oh._ He freezes. _That would be a sight to behold._

"Gleb?"

"Oh, don't mind me," he stifles a laugh, waving his hand. God, he shouldn't have thought of that, especially while she's in the room. "Your conman — Dmitry... He must've suffered about it."

" _My_ conman?" Anya laughs. "You say that as if he and I were together."

"Were you not?" Gleb titled his head and raised a brow. Anya shook her head and smiled.

"I loved him," she turns away for a moment, staring at the empty cup of tea that settled on the table. She sighed. "We loved each other, but we both realized —" Anya turned to him — "We don't... We don't want each other.

"We've talked about this a month after that incident. He and I... We merely wish to be friends," she said, playing with the sleeves of his coat. "I guess we were too lonely and indulging in each other's company was the only way to rid of that feeling." She lets out a short, almost pained huff. Gleb nods sympathetically. "I do love him, but _never_... It wasn't romantic at all."

There was silence yet again, before Anya spoke, "And I didn't want to stay in Paris any longer. It was too much for me, if I'm to be frank."

"What do you mean?" Gleb asked.

"I... I talked to my grandmother about leaving Paris and dropping the title." Anya replied, nervous. "Being the Grand Duchess was never my intention. I only wanted to see my family again." She smiles. "She agreed, of course. Only that I promised her two things thing: that I remain safe and that I write to her every month."

"You..." Gleb swallowed, still attempting to wrap his head around this situation. "You've left Paris permanently?" He watched her nod with no hesitation. "You left a perfect future ahead of you..." She risked her entire future, her reputation and her life to be here... "For what?"

There was a brief pause. She didn't speak. She only stared at him, eyes twinkling under the dim lights. _Those damn eyes,_ he thought, biting his lip."Anya, please..."

"You _really_ are a dense man." She smiles, putting the coat aside. She moved closer to him and dared to put her hand on his knee. The Deputy Commissioner tensed up, not used to the feeling of her hand on him. She chuckled. Her hands felt so gentle, like a feather brushing his calloused hands. "I came back because of _you_ , Gleb."

His brain must've melted down. He was sure he was dreaming - he wouldn't be too surprised, honestly. It felt too surreal, too good for it not to be a dream. He felt his throat tighten and his entire body stiffened. He stuttered, "This can't... It can't be real. You're just a dream."

"Oh, but I'm not," she says, hushed. His head was on the pillows now, his entire body trapped by thus enchanting woman. He really wouldn't want to be elsewhere, if he had to be honest. She inched closer, her hands travelling from his hands to his face, cupping it gently. Her eyes lit up, he noticed, a fire beginning to burn bright, even brighter than the sun. He was losing himself in her touch that he was close to kissing her right there and then, but he resisted.

"You are..." He argues, though he doesn't believe at himself any longer as she pressed her body against his, feeling the heat between them. God, has he ever been this warm? "You're just a dream, aren't you...?"

Anya, the stubborn, headstrong woman that she is, shook her head and pressed her forehead against his and spoke with pure confidence, "Gleb, I truly am here." And to prove it, she cupped his face. All he could really do was watch, mouth agape, as this beautiful golden-haired woman speak, "I came back because I love —"

" _Don't,_ " Gleb cuts her off, his voice trembling slightly. His heart ached. He was trying so hard not to break right then and there. He wants to believe it, but he knew he'll wake up again. He'll wake up soon enough. He lets out a pained sigh. "Don't say it unless you mean —"

She pressed her lips against his, effectively shutting him up. He gasps for a moment, but quickly melts into her, basking in her warmth, her body, her kiss. Everything felt like a dream and he never wanted to wake up from it. Her fingers find their way to his hair as she tugs on it slightly, earning a quiet groan from the Deputy Commissioner. He's never felt so weak before, but he didn't mind. Hell, he even likes this. She makes him feel weak, and that was alright. More than alright.

Anya pulls back, panting a bit whilst Gleb lied there, overwhelmed with emotions. His head was swirling too much to even comprehend what had happened. The golden-haired woman grinned, her hands on his chest as her eyes shone bright and true. "I love you, Gleb."

"I..." He was shaking, his sight was blurring. He reckoned he was about to cry. How pathetic. In front of her? He really was a toss-up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before meeting her gaze.

It was as if she knew how to comfort him: she looked at him softly, as if to say that everything was alright, as if to say that he can be vulnerable to her the same way she was to him. Her thumb brushed off the tears, telling him that everything was alright, that she was real and that she wasn't just a dream his guilty conscience conjured up to torture him.

 _Anya..._ He wanted to thank her, but it seemed like she knew as he was rewarded with a quick peck on his right cheek. God, her lips are amazingly soft. He sighs. Everything was warm, everything felt right. They were here, in the present. Both of them couldn't be any happier.

"I love you too, Anya." He whispered with a big smile on his face. He's happy to fall for her over and over again. He'll bask himself in her presence and drink her warmth like a man who's found an oasis in the desert. She grinned and kissed him again. This time, he reciprocates with no hesitance. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, both knowing that they wouldn't be letting go any time soon. They both smiled.

His dream didn't quite end up like this, but it got one thing absolutely right: she really _did_ taste like honey and his favorite blend of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> (I accidentally removed the end notes while editing pfft)  
> This is my first Gleb/Anya fic. Actually, this is my very first fic ksjksk  
> Finally had the gall to post something after lurking in Ao3 for god knows how long. :D


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